


Till That Lucky Day

by straightupcreepin



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1930s, Feels, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 14:04:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16199012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/straightupcreepin/pseuds/straightupcreepin
Summary: Soft dry lips brushed Bucky's cheek, fleeting and feather light. Didn't matter. Bucky felt it like a brand anyway, something that burned down into the very heart of him. This was something they'd tiptoed around for years, had been inching bit by tiny bit towards over the past few months. Steve had just tipped them right onto the knife's edge.





	Till That Lucky Day

**Author's Note:**

> Pre-War, Pre-Serum, mild period typical internalized homophobia. Lots of emotions. Schmoop.
> 
> Title comes from the song "I Can't Give You Anything But Love" from the 1938 Katherine Hepburn & Cary Grant film Bringing Up Baby. It's great. You should watch it.
> 
> Special thanks and love to ModernEpitaph and Katrina for enabling my nonsense!

"Goddamn motherfucking cocksucker piece of shit!"

Someone gave a low whistle and a pair of feet slid into Bucky's view. Skinny ankles and socks with darned patches showed where the slacks had been hemmed just a little too short. "You kiss your mother with that mouth?"

Bucky stopped scowling and swearing up at the engine above him, brow smoothing out in surprise. "Rogers?" He scrambled out from under the car so he could get a look at him. The ankles had been a dead giveaway - he'd know those bony suckers anywhere - but it was nice to have the confirmation. Blonde hair, one lock constantly falling into clear blue eyes. Skin and bones on a wiry frame. Near permanent scowl on his face, spitfire that he was, only he wasn't scowling now. He was smiling a little. Teasing. "The hell are you doing here? I thought -"

"I was." Steve's head bobbed in assent, reading Bucky's thought before he'd even finished it. They had a way of doing that, a shorthand developed over years of being in each other's pockets. He'd thought Steve had been at work, at the green grocers a few blocks from home. Buck felt his stomach drop for a second – things would get pretty tight if Steve had lost the job - but Steve waved his hand. "Sent me home early. Nobody was coming out in this weather to go to the market."

It was raining outside, a cold slow drizzle - Buck'd been listening to the steady pitter patter as it plinked against the shop windows all day. He climbed to his feet and noticed the wet splotches on Steve's jacket, the waterlogged hat he'd set on the bench for later. Concern pinched his face in a frown. " _You_ shouldn't be out in this weather," he pointed out, firmly.

Steve scoffed and rolled his eyes, which was just what Bucky expected. Stubborn son of a bitch. "If I stayed home every time I was s'posed to, I'd never go out," he protested. It was true, or near enough. Bucky still planned on arguing about it, but Steve distracted him with a smile, knocking their shoulders together. "Brought you lunch," he said, holding up a brown paper bag. "Thought I'd save you a nickel. Besides, I've barely seen your ugly mug since you started this new job."

That was true, too. Buck's hours at the garage were long and hard. By the time he got home to their crummy apartment at nights, it was past dinner time. It was a good thing. Meant there was work enough to keep him on, meant a steady stream of cash flowing in to take care of the bills and Steve's medicine. Kept Buck in cigarettes, and would allow them small, occasional splurges, like a ball game or a night out dancing with some of the girls from the neighborhood.

Still, he'd be lying if he said he hadn't been missing Steve a little bit. They'd been joined at the hip since they were five years old, it was a little ridiculous that they saw each other less now that they lived together than they had before.

"All right, all right." Bucky rolled his eyes, all fond exasperation. He wiped his hands on his coveralls and slung an arm around Steve's shoulders. "Sweet talk me, why don't ya? Come on." He herded Steve deeper into the shop.

They ate their sandwiches in the back office (empty and abandoned, at this time of day) in mostly silence, just soaking up each other's company. That was the thing about him and Steve. They didn't have to talk to have a conversation, to be close. Sometimes just being in the same space was enough.

Bucky smoked a cigarette in the doorway when they were done, door cracked open so he could blow the smoke out into the rain instead of into the office where it could bother Steve's lungs. He was leaning back against one side of the door frame, head tipped back as he breathed out a plume of smoke, when a sideways glance showed Steve was watching. He had that look he got on his face sometimes - lips parted, brow slightly furrowed, eyes sharp and intent - when he was committing something to memory to copy down in his sketchbook later.

It always lit him up on the inside, when Steve looked at him like that. One of these days he was gonna do somethin' about it.

For now he just smirked and raised a brow, arching his back a little to stretch out some of the stiffness. To show off. "What?" He wanted to know.

Steve flushed beautifully, red creeping up to the tips of his nose and ears. "Nothin', just... The door framing you, and the rain behind. Makes a good picture, Buck. You know," he added, corner of his mouth lifting, "if I ignore that godawful face."

Buck snorted and scuffed the toe of his boot on the concrete floor. "Yeah, I know. I got a face only a mother could love. I gotta get back to work." He stubbed the cigarette out under his boot. He scooped up the still damp hat on his way past and deposited it back on Steve's head. "Go home and warm up, will ya?" He straightened the collar of Steve's jacket, hands lingering longer than they strictly needed to. "I'll try to be home before dinner gets cold."

Steve nodded, pink cheeked and smiling. "I'll see you at home, Buck." He tipped his face in close, like it was natural. Automatic. Like he was gonna...

Soft dry lips brushed Bucky's cheek, fleeting and feather light. Didn't matter. Bucky felt it like a brand anyway, something that burned down into the very heart of him. This was something they'd tiptoed around for years, had been inching bit by tiny bit towards over the past few months. Steve had just tipped them right onto the knife's edge.

Bucky felt like a tightrope walker at the circus. Hundreds of feet in the air with nothing but a thin wire to separate him from the ground below. His chest went tight and fit to burst all at once, and all he could do was gape at Steve with eyes blown wide.

"S-see you at home," he echoed dimly.

Steve had the gall to look smug as he walked out, hands in his pockets, whistling. Like that asshole hadn't just upended Bucky's day. Bucky's _life_.

He had to smoke another cigarette, fingers shaking, before he could trust himself to go back to the garage proper and at least half focus on the '31 Buick he was meant to be fixing.

*

Bucky was no good for the rest of the day.

He finished his work by rote and routine, barely seeing the engine parts that were right in front of his face. This was the kind of distraction that could get a guy hurt, Bucky knew that. He just couldn't help it. His focus was irrevocably set on something else.

It stayed on that something else as he wound his way home that evening, the rain finally having petered out.

It wasn't that he didn't like women. He did. He genuinely did. Burned for them just the way he was supposed to, chased the feeling of being close to them. The effort he put into making time with them, that was real. 

But. _But..._

He couldn't remember ever looking at Steve and not thinking that he was beautiful. And Steve wasn't the only man he looked at like that. The first and the constant, the most intense, the one he didn't think he was ever going to get over. But Bucky couldn't write it off as an anomaly when his eyes caught and snagged on broad shoulders and sharp, handsome jawlines same as they did on the soft curves of a woman's silhouette.

He burned for men, too.

He didn't know what that made him. Half-queer? Bucky figured it didn't matter. Being half a fairy was just as dangerous as being a whole one, if you acted on it.

He'd been able to keep that part of himself carefully locked away, for the most part. It slipped out sometimes with Steve. They'd danced around it for so long that it had become... safe, almost. A game. He could flirt, tiptoe right up to the line, get just a taste of what it might be like, and retreat back without having to worry about following through.

Well. That had changed now, hadn't it? He'd always known it would, eventually. Didn't mean he felt ready for it.

Bucky's feet dragged on the way home, shadows lengthening around him. He made it to their street and stood looking up at their building. It wasn't quite dark yet. Steve would be up there, keeping dinner warm. Waiting for him.

Waiting.

The pressure swelled in his chest again, heart hammering against his ribs. He couldn't take it. He turned away and his feet took him in another direction.

*

Bennegan's Bar sat on the corner of a cross street a few blocks over from the boarding house Bucky and Steve lived in. Somehow, Bucky's steps had led him there - a moth drawn to the warm and golden glow of the bar's lights. He took a seat at the counter and ordered a whiskey from the bar tender, and listened to the crackling jazz playing over the radio on the countertop.

Trying to focus on the issue at hand.

Trying to forget it.

"Hey, mister, got a light?" A soft, feminine voice broke into his thoughts and Bucky looked up to find a pretty blonde smiling at him. She held a cigarette between two fingers and wrapped her ruby red lips around the butt when he brought his lighter out of his pocket. 

It was the easiest type of distraction, and even though Bucky felt his stomach twist hard with something akin to guilt, he found a flirtatious smirk spreading across his face as he leaned in to light it for her. 

"Thanks," she told him, and took a drag. He watched the smoke curl around her lips as she exhaled. "You're a real life saver."

"Always happy to lend a helping hand, Miss...?"

"Yvette." She offered him her hand. "Do knights in shining armor have names?"

He shook it gently. "This one does. Bucky Barnes, ma'am, at your service."

"You come here often, Mr. Barnes?"

He shrugged. "Every now and then."

"Pity I've never seen you before."

"Yeah, but you're seeing me now." He winked, and she smiled and blushed.

This was a dance he was familiar with. They chatted while she finished her cigarette and he finished his beer, and it was easy. She stubbed out her cigarette in an ashtray and stood, and there was an expectant pause.

Bucky could see how this would go.

He'd offer to walk her home. They'd neck a little, outside her building. She'd invite him up and they'd go inside. Have another drink, maybe, turn on the radio. She'd sit on his lap and they'd neck a little more. Yvette was a nice girl, she wouldn't want to go all the way, but that was okay. Maybe they'd help each other get off other ways, her delicate hands wrapped around his cock. His face pressed between her thighs. He'd kiss her goodnight and they'd both end the encounter happy and satisfied.

Any other night he would offer. Any other night he wouldn't miss this chance. But tonight the silence stretched and hung between them. The pause ended, and a flicker of disappointment passed over her face.

"Well, it was swell to meet'cha, Mr. Barnes," she smiled at him and tipped her head.

"You, too. Maybe... I'll see you around sometime?"

The smile widened. "I'd like that."

"Me, too."

"Goodnight."

He watched her go. She waved at him over her shoulder at the door, and slipped out into the night.

Bucky turned back to the empty glass in front of him, staring at it for a moment. He slapped a few bills on the counter to cover his tab and scooped up his hat – he had someone waiting for him at home.

*

Steve was still up when he got there, tucked into the corner of the sofa. He was bent over his sketchbook with the lamp on and the radio playing softly in the corner. _I can't give you anything but love, baby..._

A soft, slightly hysterical chuckle bubbled up in Bucky's chest, because _God_. How apt. It drew Steve's attention, he looked up and smiled. "Oh, hey. There you are."

"Here I am." He agreed, staring at him. Skin buzzing with nerves and something else. Excitement. Anticipation. How had he ever hesitated? How had he ever thought he'd want anything, any _one_ else?

"I kept your dinner in the oven if - hey!" Steve protested as Bucky plucked the sketchbook out of his hands and set it aside. A half glance showed that Bucky had been right, earlier. There was a familiar shape roughed out in pencil - the silhouette of a man standing in a doorway, a plume of smoke curling gently out of his lips. "What are you doing?"

Bucky ignored Steve. Took him by the hand and pulled him to his feet, in the middle of their small living room. "Dance with me."

Steve's brows went up. He looked at Bucky like he couldn't puzzle out what was going on. Like Bucky had lost his mind. "Are you drunk?"

"Nah, doll, I just wanna dance." He circled an arm around Steve's slim waist and pulled him closer, hand splayed in the small of Steve's back. The smaller man fit so perfectly in his arms. Like they were made for each other.

Steve looked skeptical, but he slipped his left hand into Bucky's right and put his right hand on Bucky's shoulder. Following Bucky's lead, trusting him, even though he didn't know what was going on. "I can smell the whiskey, Buck."

"One drink," Bucky promised, grinning down at Steve as he lead him in a swaying circle around the room. "I only had one."

"Then what's gotten into you?!" He demanded, but he was laughing.

"Nothing. Can't a fella just be in a good mood?" He smiled down at Steve and hummed along to the song as they danced. "God, you're beautiful," Bucky let the thought just slip out. He slowed down their swaying and then stilled.

"...Bucky?" Steve's eyes searched Bucky's face, and he drew in a breath as Bucky began to rub circles into Steve's back with his thumb. He swallowed as Bucky brushed the fingertips of his right hand over Steve's jaw, and his voice came out breathier, desperate, as he twisted his fingers in Bucky's shirt. " _Bucky_."

Bucky wasn't gonna leave him waiting. He tipped Steve's chin up and bent his head down, closing the distance between them. "Steve," he breathed, nudging their noses together. Drawing out that perfect moment, letting the tension build, before finally...

He kissed him. Soft at first, gentle. Just careful brushes across his lips. It felt like the universe had narrowed, whittled down to a fine point until it was just this. Just this room, and them in the center. Twined together. Steve made a soft sound against his lips, and their kisses shifted, grew less careful.

It wasn't like making time with a dame. Steve was small and slight, sure, but the sturdy grip on his shoulders, that wiry body pressing closer... Bucky's head swam with it. This was what being with a man felt like, what being with _Steve_ felt like.

That was the key. Man or woman, he didn't think it ever would have mattered. He'd have found Steve anyway, would have loved him just as fierce. 

"Is this - Buck, wait," Steve pushed against Bucky's chest, putting enough space between them that he could meet Bucky's eyes, leaving Bucky feeling like he was pinned in place. Dumbstruck. Drunk on this, and on the way Steve looked right now - flushed face and kiss-swollen lips, hair and clothes mussed. It took Bucky a moment to focus, to resist diving back in. He dragged his eyes up to meet Steve's instead. "If we do this, we... we can't take it back."

Bucky knew what he meant. They'd stepped close to this line before, but they'd never crossed it. This wasn't something they could undo. This would change things between them, irrevocably. It would change everything.

It meant no more girls. Bucky wouldn't be one of those guys who used a dame as a cover for wanting to be with a man. If he did this, he was gonna do right by Stevie. He wasn't going to split his time and attention like that.

Which meant it was also the end of pretending he was normal. What the world perceived as normal. He had never been able to convince himself that loving Steve could be wrong, whatever the priest told them from the pulpit at Sunday morning mass, but he knew that most people thought it was.

They'd have to hide it, to keep work. To keep from being completely ostracized by society, maybe even by Bucky's family.

But it also meant getting to be with Steve. It meant not having to hide from each other. It meant Bucky not having to wonder years later, after he'd settled down with a nice girl and had kids, if he'd made the wrong choice. Meant not having to regret it.

It meant the chance to build a life together. Maybe not the one they were supposed to have, maybe not the one they thought. But theirs.

And that, Bucky found, was worth quite a risk.

"I love you." He swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat. "I don't wanna take it back."

Steve stared at him hard for a moment, but Bucky held his ground, he meant it. And Steve must've seen it in his face, because suddenly he was closing the distance between them again, rocking up on his toes and pulling Bucky's face down to meet him in a desperate, biting kiss. "I love you, too," he murmured.

 _Dream awhile, scheme awhile_ , the radio continued playing in the background, as Bucky let Steve pull him down into the couch cushions. _We're sure to find..._

Happiness. 

This was happiness. They’d found it in each other.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed.


End file.
